His Father's Son
by freakanature06
Summary: What if Raphael had been raised by Oroku Saki? How would he turn out? This is the story of how Oroku Raphael became the infamous Phael. RATED FOR VIOLENCE AND NOTNICE THINGS! R&R please!
1. Success

A/N: So my friend and I were talking one day, and we developed a set of AU turtles that each grew up in different settings and completely apart from each other, not knowing that the others existed. This story is about Oroku Raphael, raised by Oroku Saki, and how he grew into someone that... no one really likes very much.

**WARNING: THIS FANFIC CONTAINS LOTS OF VIOLENCE AND MENTIONS OF NOT-SO-PLEASANT THINGS!! DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT LIKE THOSE THINGS!! Thank you.**

Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles or anything else in their world. I'm just using it to amuse myself! grins

Chapter 1 - Success

He stood still and silent in the shadows, watching from his perfect hiding spot, not betraying where he was with even the quiet sounds of breathing. This was his refuge, where he came to hide from the bastard who called himself his 'father.' That man was no father: He was a monster.

Waves of anger rushed over him as he watched 'father' tearing through his things – HIS things – searching for something that had been misplaced. His fists clenched and unclenched spasmodically as things that were precious to him were flung across the room without regard to their well-being. Crashing sounds reached his ears and he gritted his teeth, grinding them together in annoyance and fury.

This pathetic excuse for a man did not deserve to be a father. He didn't deserve to lead the Foot clan. And he most certainly didn't deserve to live.

His grip tightened on the shovel in his hand. In just a few minutes, it would all be over and he would never have to see the assholes ugly face again. He would bury his 'father' along with any memories he ever had of him.

Without making a sound, he stepped out of the shadows and approached his 'father' slowly, deliberately. "Stop," he commanded in a low growl.

Annoyance flickered over the monsters face, but he did not stop his search for even a moment. When he spoke, it was in Japanese, like it always was when he was angry or frustrated. " Go back to your room, Raphael. "

"This _is_ my room, you fucking jackass!" The shout escaped from Raphael's mouth before he had truly thought about them. Usually, he would have just growled and left the room, but it had become too much. His 'father' had finally pushed him off the edge.

Eyes snapping up in anger, the man saw the look on his sons face and reeled back, away from him. A smirk played across Raphael's beak at the sight of his 'father' so afraid. Oh, how the tables had turned.

In an attempt to hide his obvious fear, the man drew himself up and shouted at Raphael. " Stand down, Raphael! " He took a swing at his son, which had become a normal reaction for him, but he found the swing stopped halfway to its goal. Quick as lightning, Raphael's hand had shot out and now held his 'father's' wrist in a vise-like grip.

The beatings. Yes, that had been part of what had led to this moment, though not a big part. Raphael had grown accustomed to the pain and it had dulled to him. Even the occasional pains of rape had become nothing more than dull throbs, though it still sent a stabbing pain through him to realize how easily he could be pinned down and treated in such a way. Never mind that his 'father' always resorted to trickery and bonds to do it, he was still overwhelmed too easily for his own liking.

The thing that had finally driven him to this point though was the way his 'father' talked to him. A growl escaped him as bits of memories flashed through his mind.

"_ You are nothing, Raphael. You are a failure! You will never succeed at anything you try because that is all you are. Just a failure. "_

His grip tightened slowly around the wrist in his hand until he heard a crack and then cries of pain, jerking him out of his memories. A great pleasure filled him at the sight of his 'father' in so much pain, crying for him to stop, pleading.

Now was his moment to prove, once and for all, that he was not what his 'father' said he was. He was not a failure, and his first success would occur when this man lay dead before him.

With a shove, he let go of the wrist and easily tossed the man onto the ground. For a moment, he stared at the heap of worthless flesh before him. He ran a thumb lightly over the edge of the shovel, which he had sharpened so painstakingly, so lovingly. In that moment, he saw a piece of humanity in his 'father,' something he had never seen before in those cold, loveless eyes.

"Please… Raphael… my son…" He resorted to English and a pleading tone as a last effort to save himself.

Raphael squatted down and studied him with his head tilted to the side while his 'father' breathed heavily, hoping against hope that his son was as much of a failure as he had always told him.

After a moment, Raphael spoke with a quiet, almost deadly calm, a sneer in his voice if not on his face. "I am not your son." With that said, he stood, raised the shovel high, and brought it down in a sweeping motion across the man's neck, almost decapitating him in his fury.

Breathing heavily, he stood over the body of the man who had broken him so many times in his life, blood-spattered and looking positively gleeful. He only turned from staring hungrily at the sight when a choked gasp sounded behind him.

There stood one of Elite Foot, his mask off, staring in horror at the dead body in the room. The Elite was one of the few who had ever been kind to Raphael, bringing him treats when he had been good, reassuring him in his younger years whenever his 'father' had been particularly cruel.

The Foot finally tore his gaze from the most gruesome part of the scene and focused his gaze on Raphael. "Raph… what have you done?"

Turning back to stare at his first accomplishment, Raphael shook his head. "I am not Raph and I never will be again."

He stooped down and caressed his dead father's cheek in an almost adoring way. "From this day on, I am Phael, as he named me."

With that, he straightened and strode away, leaving the horror-struck Elite to raise the alarm and inform the Foot clan that their master was dead.


	2. A Time for Change

**A/N: And here's chapter two. Hope you like it:D**

**WARNING: STILL MUCH NASTINESS, DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ, PLEASE!!!**

Chapter 2 – A Time for Change

A dull thump echoed through the room and blood splattered all nearby as the Elite hit the ground, choking one last breath down before falling completely still. Phael stood erect over the body, half drenched in the blood of his most recent kill and grinning. Many of the Foot who had been watching the killing with undisguised glee averted their eyes at the sight of that grin – that grin that never showed joy, only an intense desire to cause more pain for yet another person.

His gaze lingered on the dead body before him for a long while as he slowly licked his lips clean of the blood that had fallen there. Finally, he looked up and around at all the Foot gathered there, taking in the way their eyes all filled with fear at the thought that he may be looking at them.

His voice came out in a hoarse growl when he spoke. "Anyone else?"

Every face in the room was averted by that point. Each person was trying not to move, not to draw his attention to them. He looked around again, slowly, savoring the fear emanating from them, and then nodded. "Good. I expect not to be challenged again."

He turned and stalked out, back to his bedroom, thinking the whole way. In the two years since he had killed his father, he had been getting almost weekly challenges for the position of leading the Foot. Every opponent that had come his way had wound up just like the last one – beaten, humiliated… dead.

As he entered his room, a smirk crept on to his face. This had been the first time that he had been able to look around the room and not see a defiant face among the frightened. It was quite possible that he had finally won the position he had stolen from his father.

"Raph?"

Phael growled and turned to see who was at the door, though he knew who it was. It was Michael, the Elite who had found him standing over his father's body and who had supported him completely the last two years.

Turning away again after a quick glower, Phael replied, "I thought I told you not to call me that."

"Of course you have, but I've been with you since you were a baby, Raph. I can't call you anything but what I've called you for eighteen years." Michael stepped into the room and stood respectfully by the door, hands behind his back.

Another low growl escaped Phael, but he did not push the issue. Michael was his most loyal man and there was no use in killing him just for calling him by a name he did not use anymore. To distract himself from his anger, he began to speak.

"The Foot clan is in need of change, and lots of it. Now, I have some ideas on how to help better the Foot, but I need to know I'll have the support I'll need." He turned and started hard at Michael. "Do I?"

Michael sighed in a somewhat resigned fashion. "I've told you multiple times, Raphael. You do not need to ask for my support. As long as you will accept it from me, you will have it."

With a curt nod, Phael turned away again, saying, "I have a number of ideas already for changes that need to be made. First of all, we need more members, loyal members who will follow me without hesitation."

"We will begin more rigorous recruiting immediately then."

"Yes. Do. But we need more than that." One of his infamous grins echoed like a shadow across his face. The sight made Michael blanch.

"More than that? What more do we need?"

The grin took up full residence as Phael turned to face Michael. "We need to intensify the breeding programs."

"Intensify… how exactly?"

"More women, preferably women who already have young children that we can admit into the clan."

"What?! Are… are you insane, Raphael? I thought you were going to get RID of that barbaric system that your father set up!"

It was clear by the look on Phael's face that he thought it quite possible that he was insane and didn't mind in the least. He began to pace slowly. "No. It makes sense. If we breed the ninja into the clan, we will have them to train from birth. If we put them through the proper programs to make them loyal to me and me alone, I will have the most faithful followers anyone has ever seen. But the handful of women we have right now aren't enough. We need more to build the army I desire."

Michael watched Phael pace, looking thoughtful and slightly distressed. "Raph… You're talking about dragging more innocents into a harsh lifestyle without their consent."

As the grin widened, Michael took a step back. "That's _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

"But… you can't honestly want to…" Michael trailed off. He could tell by the look on Phael's face that this was exactly what Phael wanted to do and that he had no delusions about helping people. He was doing this for pure power… and perhaps something more that Michael didn't even want to think about.

With a sigh, Michael bowed. "We will start searching women out at once." He straightened and left without another word, knowing that Phael would not listen to any of his arguments against this.

Phael stood staring and grinning at a wall for a number of minutes. In his mind, he saw the Foot as they would be: prosperous, numerous, completely under his control, shaped in his image. From this day on, the Foot would go through a change, starting with the name.

No longer would they be the Foot clan. Those days were behind them. Phael took off his red mask and stared at it, the grin lingering for a moment more before turning into a casual smirk. They would be the Red Foot, the best and most feared ninjas the world had ever seen. And he, Phael, would be their god.


	3. To Be Different

**A/N: And here's chapter three. I've actually finished writing all five chapters, but I'll be waiting a bit between updates of it. Thanks to those who've read:D**

Chapter 3 – To Be Different

The tabloid headlines that morning read, "Another Dead Alien Baby Found in Back Alley." It was one of the few times the tabloids got anything right. The police were trying to keep the discoveries of dead mutant babies covered up as best as they could, but even they couldn't fight the powers of the media.

A smirk of amusement crossed Phael's face as he eyed the paper in front of him, bearing that strange title. He picked the paper up, ripped out the article, and added it to a collection that had started in one of his desk drawers. After noting that the drawer was getting a little full, Phael closed it and got up to move to his bed.

As he looked around the highest room of Foot Tower, Phael felt a sense of home that he had never felt before. He had decided long ago that the life of luxury was the only life for him, but he had never realized how good it felt until he had finally brought the Red Foot to their new status as the most feared crime power in New York City and, quite possibly, the world.

Setting his shovel against the wall, Phael spread out on the king-sized bed and drifted into the place close to sleep that was the only place that he could go, not being able to sleep completely without leaving himself vulnerable.

He was dragged to complete awareness some time later by the sounds of an argument going on outside his door. With a growl at the interruption of his rest, he got up and opened the door slowly, listening to the angry voices.

"You can't see the Master now, he's resting!" came the voice of one of his Gold Foot Ninja guards, sounding annoyed.

"I can damn well see him whenever the _hell_ I want to!" Phael was a little surprised to hear the annoyance and, even stranger, the anger in Michael's voice. In all his years of knowing Michael, he had never heard him angry once.

Deciding that if Michael was angry, it was something very important, Phael gave a low growl and said, "Why the hell am I being disturbed?"

The guard jumped and Phael felt immensely better seeing the fear in his movements, hearing the terror in his voice when he spoke. "I… I'm s-s-sorry, Master. He… he wouldn't…" The guard trailed off, seeing that Phael's attention was more on Michael than on him.

Michael was busy glaring daggers at Phael, who beginning to become amused by this open show of anger from the man who had always remained so calm and rational. "We need to talk, Raphael," Michael said in a low voice, striding past Phael into his room without an invitation.

Growling angrily, Phael stepped back into his room and slammed the door behind him. "Who the hell do you think you are that you can just barge into my room without invitation?!"

"The man who's stood by you for twenty years without even a thought of switching loyalties." Michael turned and fixed Phael with a gaze so full of anger that Phael was certain he was about to be challenged to a fight to the death. He didn't want to kill Michael, but he would. He would kill anyone if it proved necessary.

A moment later, however, Michael's gaze had moved away and become less intense, though he still looked extremely angry. "Well? What do you need to talk to me about?" Phael was getting impatient now and, though he would never admit it, was a little unnerved by Michael's behavior.

In answer, Michael pulled out a copy of the same tabloid Phael had been reading earlier and tossed it on the bed. He pointed at the title, glared at Phael and asked, "Is that your doing?"

Phael looked at the paper for a moment then nodded, a bit of a grin playing across his face. "It is."

"What the hell is your problem?!"

The sudden exclamation from his usually calm follower caused Phael to jump slightly. Even more angered by this, Phael growled, "I don't have a problem!"

"You're killing your own children! Of course you have a problem! Why would you do that?! I would give any…" A choked sob escaped Michael before he could continue. "…Anything to have my daughter back, and here you are _killing_ your children!"

If it was shouting Michael wanted, it was shouting he would get. Phael took a step closer to the man and boomed, "And what would you want me to do? Raise the bastards?!"

Michael didn't back down for a moment and spoke in a quiet voice this time. "Yes. I would want you to do that."

A dam burst in Phael and he grabbed Michael by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground with ease, shaking him slightly. "Don't you understand, you fool of a man?! If I raise them, they stand as good a chance as being treated like I was! I refuse to put anyone else through that!"

He tossed Michael aside and barely heard the crash of the breaking table as he turned away, fuming. "Death is better for them than the alternative."

Michael stood up slowly, wincing as he realized his ankle had been sprained in the crash. For a moment, he stared long and hard at Phael then shook his head and limped out of the room.

Left alone, Phael paced around the room. What he was doing was right. It was the only way to protect his children from suffering the same fate he had. He refused to be like his father.

A crash echoed around the room as Phael absent-mindedly sent a lamp flying across it. He glowered at the shattered remains. "I am NOT my father!"


	4. The Traveler

A/N: And here's chapter 4. As a bit of a brief background, the Traveler is another AU that managed to work his way into Phael's world because he can travel between dimensions. He somehow foiled one of Phael's plans, which is the reason behind this chapter. I don't know much about the Traveler, he's not my character, but I think that's enough information to understand what's going on this chapter.

Disclaimer: Me no own. You no sue. :D

Chapter 4 – The Traveler

Foot Tower was unusually quiet. The students scurried as silently as they could to and from classes, trying not to irritate the Elites. The Elites, in turn, were doing their best not to irritate the High Elites, who were standing guard outside of the only room not covered in silence. Because, if the High Elites were irritated, they could anger the already very upset Master, and no one wanted that. So Foot Tower stayed quiet. All except for Phael.

There was a constant stream of crashes and curses coming from Phael's room. It had started the day before and hadn't stopped for more than a moment since. Everyone knew why he was upset, but that didn't make his anger any less terrifying or hard to bear.

When complete silence enveloped Foot Tower near dusk of that day, no one breathed a sigh of relief. Silence was even more frightening than noise because silence meant that their Master was now coldly contemplating the situation.

For his part, Phael was just as confused as he was angry. He kept trying to figure out how that _other turtle_ could have disrupted his plans. The plans that he had laid so perfectly had failed because of some _freak_ who called himself "the Traveler".

At a knock on the door, Phael grunted to let the visitor know to come in. Michael stayed quiet as he entered and closed the door behind him, not wanting to set off the ticking time bomb seated on the most comfortable chair in the room. After a few moments, Michael spoke. "You sent for me?"

Another grunt was his only answer. Michael sighed. "Well, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"The Traveler." Phael's voice was low and filled with hatred and anger.

With a nod, Michael stood a little straighter. "And what would you like done about this 'Traveler', sir?" He didn't dare call Phael by his name like he usually did. Anger was radiating in waves from Phael's direction, and Michael was not a stupid man.

Phael stood and faced away from his most loyal follower, clasping his hands behind his back. "I want you to track him down… and kill any family or friends around him."

"Sir," Michael started, frowning a bit. "Don't you think that's a bit much? Shouldn't we just get him and bring him back–" He was cut off by a loud growl from Phael.

"No! Nothing is enough for this bastard!" Phael turned and Michael took an involuntary step back at the mad gleam that had entered Phael's eyes, his characteristic grinning spreading slowly across his face. He spoke in a low, deadly voice. "I intend to make that piece of shit _suffer_ for what he did to me. _No one_ foils my plans and gets away with it. NO ONE!" With that last shout, he hurled his chair across the room, where it smashed into bits against the wall and lay in a cluttered heap on the ground.

Michael decided to try once more for reason. "Please, Raphael, reconsider. This is ridiculous. There's no point in mak–"

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, YOU FOOL!" Phael was bearing down upon Michael, not much differently than he had two years before when Michael had questioned his killing his own children. For the second time in his life, Michael found himself being hoisted up by the front of his shirt and shaken.

"I _failed_!!! Don't you understand?! Every time I fail, it proves him RIGHT! I _never_ want him to be right, dammit!"

Suddenly, Michael knew that they weren't talking about the Traveler anymore. He studied Phael calmly from his position in the air then spoke quietly. "Very well. I will do the best I can to follow your orders."

Breathing irregularly, Phael lowered Michael to the ground then sat on the edge of his bed. After regaining his composure completely, Michael laid a hand on Phael's shoulder lightly. Phael flinched and pulled away. "Don't touch me," he growled.

With a sigh, Michael turned away and headed towards the door. Right before opening it, he glanced back. "You are not what you're father said you are, Raphael. You will never become that as long as you do not let yourself." Then he turned the knob and slipped out the door quietly, closing it once more behind him.

Phael stayed sitting on the bed for a long time, taking deep breaths to calm himself and let his mind work through everything. He kept telling himself that Michael was right: that he was not what his father had said. Yet, he couldn't shake a sneaking thought…

If he wasn't what his father had said, why did he feel so much like he was?


	5. His Father's Son

**A/N: And here's the final chapter of His Father's Son. There WILL be an epilogue, but not for a while yet. Oddly enough, a number of characters from the RPG that I've been using Phael in appear in this chapter. :D But, that's not important at all. Please, enjoy!**

Chapter 5 – His Father's Son

"Oof!"

The fifteen-year-old boy hit the mat hard enough to knock the wind out of him. A loud thud sounded followed by a quiet groan as the boy sat up slowly, rubbing his new bruises ruefully before quickly swiping what were obviously – judging from the tear stains on his face – only a fresh wave of tears away from his bloodshot and puffy eyes. The Elite that had been sparring with the boy looked towards the other side of the room, where the frightening presence of their Master stood.

After receiving a nod, the Elite turned to the boy. "What is your number?"

The boy swiped at his eyes again and muttered his answer, glaring briefly at the now retreating form of their Master.

Phael had watched three more sparring matches when he heard a familiar voice shouting. "RAPHAEL!"

Everyone in the room froze as Phael turned to face the very angry man now standing three feet from him.

"You!" Michael pointed an accusing finger at Phael, his hand shaking uncontrollably. "How could you do this to her?! You _bastard_!!"

A growl escaped Phael, bringing an abrupt halt to all the whispering that had started up around the room at Michael's words. "You dare to speak to me like that in front of my men?" Phael's voice was nothing more than a deadly whisper, but everyone in the room heard him.

"I will talk to you however and wherever I want to, you worthless piece of _shit_!" Michael retorted, much louder. His entire body was shaking and his hands were clenched in tight fists at his sides, the knuckles turning white.

"Then you will pay the consequences," Phael growled, stepping forward, grabbing Michael around the neck, and dragging him into one of the private training rooms. The room was left in a dead silence as everyone in it wondered why Michael hadn't been killed then and there.

Michael spluttered and rubbed his neck as Phael threw him across the private training room forcefully. He barely managed not to fall and turned to glare at Phael, his neck already bruising from the grip that had just been on it.

"You have no right," Phael began, but Michael cut him off with a loud snarl.

"I have _every_ right," he growled, still rubbing his neck with one hand, the other forming a fist again. "You had no right to do what you did to my _daughter_!"

"Your daughter served her purpose and then became useless. She was an asset to the clan while she was alive."

"She was one of your fucking sex slaves!!!" Michael's shout reverberated off of the walls, bouncing back and forth for a moment. "Your bastard of a father kidnapped her right out from under my nose, made me believe she was dead then _used her_ for his fucking breeding program! And what did you do, even though I've spent most of my life protecting you? YOU KEPT HER THERE!"

"I wasn't about to let a good thing go." Phael's voice was maintaining its deadly calm. He had thought Michael had been angry when he found out about the killing of the mutant babies, but that was nothing compared to this.

Michael gave a low growl then lunged forward and punched Phael in the chin as hard as he could. Phael stumbled backwards, not hurt at all by the blow, but surprised. Michael had never been a particularly violent person. The surprise quickly dissipated into anger. "Why you little…" But Michael interrupted him again.

"I found her body last night. I found it after you had her _killed_." He was sobbing through his words now, tears glistening in his eyes. "All these years, I've mourned for her, and you _knew_, yet you did _nothing_."

"It doesn't matter. It's over with now." As angry as Phael was with Michael's outburst, he wasn't quite ready to kill the only man who had stood by him through all the years just for questioning him. Though he wasn't far off from doing that.

Michael spoke quietly. "It matters to me."

Deciding to ignore this statement, Phael continued. "What matters now is that we're close to finding the Traveler. We have a lock on his signature and we should be able to find him soon."

"Dammit, Phael! I don't care about the fucking Traveler!"

Phael's growl of anger dissipated as he suddenly realized what Michael had just called him. He stood there, completely speechless, staring as Michael headed towards the door.

"I'm leaving, Phael," he said quietly. "I can't serve you anymore, and I can't help you anymore. You've become what you were destined to be."

Michael said something else, but it was mostly drowned out by the sound of Phael's shovel leaving his back and swinging in a wide arc towards Michael's neck.

The mutilated form of a body in High Elite's clothing was found in the courtyard the next day. No one doubted who the body was for a minute as the word of Michael's argument with Phael had spread quickly.

No funeral was held and the body was just removed and dumped in a landfill. Life at Foot Tower went on like normal as the final preparations to confront the Traveler were made.

As Phael stood outside the building they had tracked the Traveler's signal to a month later, he couldn't help but feel another wave of relief that Michael wasn't around. He kept telling himself it was better this way. It was better that no one was able to get to the one weakness he had ever had, the one person who had ever cared for him.

He took one last deep breath and stepped into the building, throwing a smirk on his face, the whole time still hearing Michael's last words to him ringing in his mind:

"You really are your father's son."


End file.
